


Childish Things

by trollopfop (storyinmypocket)



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-15
Updated: 2008-04-15
Packaged: 2017-10-08 22:09:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyinmypocket/pseuds/trollopfop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"...an orphan in the storm. I was a naked child, found on the coast of the Silver Devastation: abandoned, with only this."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Childish Things

_Outside, there's chaos. Inside, the only sounds are footsteps, and the soft drag of cloth on stone... and then raised voices._

_"There has to be some other way."_

_"With all due respect, my Lady President, there isn't. We need every warrior we can find, and there's no one more brilliant, more capable, better at--"_

_"Killing. The word you're looking for, Chancellor, is killing. I won't stand for it. You don't know what it is you're bringing back."_

_"We will remind you, we have far more experience with him than you have."_

_"Long experience, I'm sure, but not close. Too ashamed to get your hands dirty, too afraid to step beyond our borders, and this is what comes of it. I did occasionally listen to the Doctor during my time with him, and I know what he's capable of."_

_"We're politicians, Lady President. Not fighters. Not killers, as you so eloquently put it. We need him. His experience, his cunning. We need all of that if we're to have a chance. If he's such a killer, let him kill the Daleks, and we'll worry about what he'll do to us when it's over and we're still alive."_

_"I won't allow you to do this."_

_"But that's what you don't realise, Lady President. We already have."_

_Silence, then._

_"Shall I show you?"_

_"I... could have you executed for this. I should."_

_"But you need me. You need us. And, as you'll see, we've taken precautions."_

_"...show me. But remember: we're at war, and I do not need traitors, Chancellor. You're not so useful to me that I'll hesitate to order your execution if you take action without my knowledge again."_

_"Of course, Lady President. This way."_

* * *

 

The first thing he sees when he wakes up is the hazy figure of a woman bending over him. She looks appalled, which is, truth be told, not an unusual reaction.

Someone nudges his shoulder. "You will rise in the presence of the President." President. Of Gallifrey? He knows the feel of Time Lords. He's just not sure of why he's so afraid.

He thinks he was dead. He remembers dying, dying for good, sucked into the Eye. And now he's on Gallifrey, which can only mean that they brought him back. Why?

Why does he feel so _small?_

"I told you to rise. The Lady President Romanadvoratrelundar is present, and you will get up." He looks over and yes, those are the formal robes... robes which the Lady President is conspicuously not wearing. Interesting. He straightens up and gives this... government flunky... his best withering glare.

"I am the Master," he says, his voice unusually high. "I rise for no one." It doesn't sound right, though. It sounds young and petulant. Childish.

"Oh, isn't that _cute."_

The President is not amused, however. "You go too far, Chancellor. Even for the Master, this is too... You want to use him like this?"

"All we need is his mind," the Chancellor replies. "He'll be easier to control this way."

The Master isn't listening anymore, though. This... this isn't right, and it isn't _fair._ There are tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, and that's even worse, since he hasn't cried in... He can't remember. And that he's shedding tears over this, this of all things, when he should be rejoicing in the fact that the fools ruling Gallifrey have seen fit to let him live again... It's all wrong, somehow, and that just makes the tears come faster.

"Like what? What have you done to me?" He grabs hold of the Lady President's gown, pulling himself close, sobbing now, and it's horrifying, this loss of control, this loss of everything he's valued in himself. "...What am I?"

The Chancellor pulls him roughly away. "You _will_ show respect. Really, you didn't think that we'd bring you back in a position to cause more trouble, did you, Master?" The name has a certain mocking quality to it, and the Master vows to himself that this man will die, as slowly and painfully as he can manage. "We've given you a new set of regenerations. That should be reason enough for you to cooperate. You owe us a great debt, after all. And now you have a chance to repay us in full."

It's the drums that provide the answer, louder and more insistent than they've been since the day they began. For centuries, they've been just a soft rhythm in the back of his mind, but now they pound through his head, strengthened a hundredfold, and he knows.

"You're at war." His voice should be flat, dead, but instead it's just the whimper of a child. A _child._

"I'm sorry." It's the President, the stupid, sentimental President, looking at him with pity. He's killed for far less, but all he can do is struggle helplessly in the Chancellor's arms.

"You're sorry, but I'll fight anyway, won't I? No sense in wasting a good tool."

His eyes meet hers, and he's still crying, but his gaze is as steady as he can make it. She's the first to look away.

"No," she says, "I suppose there isn't." Her eyes turn to the Chancellor, cold and hard and angry. "Do what you have to. But go behind my back again, and... No, I won't order your execution." She looks down at the Master once more. "...I'll leave you to _him."_

For just a moment, even trapped and humiliated and helpless as he is, the Master smiles.


End file.
